


Shot In The Dark

by Lostinfantasies38



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blindfolds, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Language, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Instant Attraction, Kissing, Matchmaking, Meet-Cute, Modeling, Neck Kissing, One Shot, Photo Shoots, Surprise Ending, Zevran Arainai is a Good Friend, sometimes you just know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:48:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25903840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lostinfantasies38/pseuds/Lostinfantasies38
Summary: Zevran Arainai is Denerim's most sought after fashion photographer and Sirra Brosca is his muse. For today's photo shoot, he is asking her to step out of her comfort zone. Initially nervous with his plan to blindly meet her fellow model, Sirra quickly warms up to the idea and things only heat up from there.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Brosca (Dragon Age)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 15





	Shot In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> SPECIAL, MASSIVE, ENTHUSIASTIC THANKS TO MY LOVELY FRIEND RIVER FOR THIS IDEA! [THANKS, RIVER!](https://river-of-asgard.tumblr.com/%5D)  
> I would post the link to the photo shoot that inspired this fic, but it seems to have been removed, which is a travesty.

* * *

Sirra smirked as she flicked her wrist, finishing the wing of her eyeliner. While it dried down, she smudged the dark eyeshadow along her lower lid, enhancing the smoky effect. Pulling out a small box of false lashes from her purse, she tapped her manicured nails against the plastic, trying to decide if she wanted to bother with them.

A warm chuckle sounded behind her and Sirra’s smile widened as Zevran sauntered into the makeup room. He cocked an eyebrow at her, plucking the box from her hands and placing it in her bag.

“My lovely Sirra, you do not need them. You already have lashes for days, cara.”

“Your instructions for today were ‘dark and sultry.’ It’s not much to go on, Zev, so I grabbed a little of everything. What color should I go with for my lips?”

Peering at her critically, he gently lifted her head under the garish light, his gaze flickering across her face as he considered the options. “Best go with a lip stain so it does not wear off. Keep them as natural as possible - a subtle pink or warm peach. Nothing dark, no red.”

“I have a peach stain,” she replied. “Any piercings you don’t want for this?”

He tilted his head from a few angles. “Normally I would say leave them all, but today we don’t need the lip or eyebrow rings.” She nodded and quickly removed the requested jewelry, keeping the simple gold hoop and filigree septum in her nose and the myriad cartilage piercings in her ears.

“Molto bene, cara mia. Be ready in ten minutes. The other model is arriving soon and I want to get started on this shoot,” he called as he exited the room. Sirra shook her head lightly as she rummaged through her makeup kit for the lip stain.

She startled when Zevran reappeared a few moments later with an outfit. Draping the strappy black fabric along her chair, he smirked at her in the mirror’s reflection. “Lingerie shoot, Sirra. Did I forget to mention that?”

Sirra narrowed her eyes in annoyance, currently unable to spout off how she felt about it while the sticky stain dried on her lips. He tapped his watch as he sashayed out of the room, and Sirra suppressed the urge to smack him.

Her agency was aware she worked with Zevran because he was the sole photographer she was comfortable around. The elf respected and appreciated her fuller figure, and her various tattoos and piercings. He was also careful who he paired her with in partnered shoots. Going out of his way to make sure they not only fit the particular aesthetic he was trying to capture, but would make her feel secure.

Zevran was a good man, a good _friend_ , and she trusted him. He didn’t have to do the extra work for her sake. He could have demanded a cookie cutter model, but he didn’t. Instead, he requested her time and time again, passing up the twiggy blondes and leggy redheads, choosing her as his muse.

It was an odd partnership - a dwarven model and an elven photographer, but it was sacrosanct. Every photographer in the city knew Sirra Brosca was Zevran Arainai’s favored choice, and her face graced various prominent billboards around Denerim in advertisements ranging from perfume to haute couture.

Sighing, Sirra glanced at the lingerie warily as she peeled off the dried layer of color, revealing the peach stain underneath. The warmth of her lips paired superbly with the dark colors, accenting her brown eyes and mahogany hair. Setting aside her nerves, Sirra slipped into the clothing he left behind.

It left little to the imagination, her full breasts threatening to break free of the lace confines, emphasizing her nipple piercings. Diamond cutouts exposed her midriff from the center of her ribs to the top of her hips. The gauzy skirt fell to her ankles, but the high slits on either side allowed for ease of movement. Breathable and comfortable, it clung to her curvaceous frame like a second skin, highlighting her tattoos and piercings perfectly.

Too perfectly.

Though Sirra had to admit she felt pretty in it. Whatever the elf was up to, she’d go along with it for an afternoon... and she might even ask to keep the lingerie. Stifling an uncharacteristic giggle, Sirra stepped onto the set.

Zevran worked at home, so the “set” was his apartment. Today the bed was center-stage, dressed in red silk sheets with a vintage mirror propped on the wall. Of course, they could end up anywhere Zevran thought suited the scene. Once she found herself draped over the edge of his bathtub, index finger tugging her lower lip, skinny jeans and ankle boots crossed against the tile. _Somehow_ said photo became the penultimate choice to showcase fall wear that season.

“Bellissima! Sirra, you are a vision,” he exclaimed when he saw her. Sirra’s cheeks flamed under his praise. “Come, come, you must give me a twirl!” Grinning, she spun a couple of times, laughing with him as the skirt fluttered around her bare feet.

“My lovely muse. Whatever would I do without you?”

Sirra popped on her tiptoes and gently tugged his bun. “Make more money hiring skinny models.”

He scoffed disdainfully. “I make more than enough to suit my needs, but I am an artist, first and foremost. Those women do not inspire me.”

“And I do? Zevran, I’m not even five feet tall and I’m stocky.”

Rolling his eyes dramatically, he fussed over his camera. “We have this conversation too often, my dear. It is tiresome. You are beautiful, and one day you will believe me.” Sirra chuckled as he brushed aside her insecurities. It still amazed her that she was the inspiration of Denerim's most sought after photographer.

“You can back out, cara mia. I will not force you to take part in a shoot that makes you uncomfortable, you know this.”

Her posture softened at his words, becoming more open and relaxed. “Yes, Zev, I know. That’s why I _will_ do it. I trust you.”

Zevran inclined his head with a grin. “My dear, you honor me. I do have a request. Something new to try, but you are free to refuse.” She quirked an eyebrow at him as he stepped closer, pulling a thick black blindfold from his pocket.

“Zev,” Sirra purred, “if you wanted to get me in bed, you didn’t have to go through all this trouble to stage a shoot.”

The elf barked out a laugh. “I can see how it might look like that, but no, that is not the case. I want to capture your reaction to the other model and his to you as part of the shoot.”

Sirra’s brows shot into her hair. “A surprise shoot?”

“Only at first,” Zevran clarified. “The rest of the shoot will not be blind. Just the introductions. Make them less awkward, more... _heightened_.”

The idea was intriguing and would likely help her shake off the last of the butterflies. Rarely was she asked to model lingerie or swimwear because of her curves, and prior to Zevran she hadn’t met a man who seemed to enjoy them. But with both models going in blind, forced to _touch_ and _talk_ before they laid eyes on one another, it might be the best way to approach this unfamiliar territory.

“I trust you, Zev,” Sirra murmured, her husky voice quieter than usual. “Tie it on for me?” she asked, pointing to the fabric in his hand.

He smiled brightly. “Of course. Thank you for this.” Carefully, Zevran covered her eyes with the blindfold, gently tying a bow she could easily release. Laying his hands on her shoulders, he walked her to a nearby chair when a knock sounded on the door.

“Everything will be fine, Sirra,” Zevran reassured her and she nodded her head tersely.

“I know. Go answer the door, Zev.”

She listened to his light footfalls as he crossed the hardwood, the _swish_ of the barrier gliding open, the hushed murmur of male voices followed by a full-bodied laugh that didn’t belong to her friend.

“Why the hell not?” the unfamiliar voice said and Sirra grinned. Zevran must have shown him the blindfold.

Whoever he was he _sounded_ pleasant and very tall, judging by the vibrations through the floor as Zevran escorted him through the apartment. And oh Ancestors, he _smelled_ heavenly. Spicy and warm, like sunshine spiked with cinnamon, and it uncurled a heat in her gut hotter than her favorite rum shooter.

“Alright, you two. Give me a moment to get set up. Feel free to chat, but keep your hands to yourself for the time being.” The man laughed again, though it sounded a little anxious, which calmed her somewhat. Chuckling softly to keep from startling him, she broke the quiet.

“I’m Sirra. What’s your name?” He sucked in a quick breath, and she smiled again since he couldn’t see it.

“I’m Alistair. I’m sorry, I just have to ask. Is-is that your real voice?”

Zevran snorted in the background and Sirra ducked her head, trying to hide behind her hair. The husky timbre of her voice always made her self-conscious.

“Yes, it is,” Zevran stated. “I’ve told Sirra many times how affecting it is, but she doesn’t believe me.”

“Holy shit,” Alistair exhaled with a shaky laugh. “You should because it is incredibly hot.”

“Really?” she queried.

“Yeah,” Alistair breathed. “I can’t even see you and I’m already - you know what, nevermind.” Laughter bubbled in her chest, tumbling past her lips, and she suddenly itched to touch the genuine person in front of her.

“Zevran, are you done? I’m ready to hurry this along.” The elf snorted again, and she heard the man murmur a faint “Maker’s breath,” but it sounded as needy as she felt.

“Ready!”

Sliding out of her chair, Sirra extended her hands, landing gently on Alistair’s forearms. “You still want to do this?” she asked softly.

“Maker, yes,” he answered, wrapping his slender fingers around her own arms. Stepping closer, his hands automatically ghosted along her sides, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth when they encountered skin, curling firmly into her wide hips.

“I don’t have to see you to know you’re gorgeous,” he whispered absently. He stiffened after the words left him, chuckling nervously. “Sorry, this blindfold is making me more bold than usual.”

“Don’t apologize,” Sirra murmured. “I like it. A lot.”

“Noted,” Alistair replied wryly, and she wished she could see the smirk that surely accompanied the statement.

“I can say the same of you,” she continued, as her hands traveled along his rippling musculature, her arms ensnaring his neck, resting on what she knew were a broad set of shoulders. Ancestors, he was already killing her. “Ready to take off the blindfolds?”

“Yes,” he whispered, one hand snaking through her dark waves, seeking the silken tie. Her fingers found his at the same time. “One, two, three.”

Tugging in unison, their coverings fell away, his intense golden-brown gaze immediately capturing her. Sirra’s cheeks burned when his pupils dilated as he drank in her face.

“Hello,” Alistair rumbled with a dimpled smile.

“Hi,” Sirra replied breathlessly. She was fucked - plain and simple.

“Ahem.” They both jumped at Zevran’s gentle interruption, but it thrilled her that Alistair did not release his hold. “Do you want to discuss ground rules or would you prefer to flow organically through the shoot?”

Sirra glanced at Alistair through her lashes. “Organically is fine with me.”

His eyes darkened further when he answered, “Same here. Say the word though and I’ll back off.”

“Sirra, what’s your word?” Zevran asked.

“Vodka.” She smiled in response to Alistair’s questioning eyebrow. “It’s the one liquor I can’t tolerate.”

Chuffing a quiet laugh, Alistair nodded. “Fair enough.”

“Come along, my lovelies. The bed awaits.”

Alistair blushed faintly, but Sirra didn’t miss the subtle flick of his tongue along his lips before he let her go. When she took a step back, he visibly choked, and she cocked her head curiously.

“You have some stunning artwork. I just noticed -” His voice trailed away as his eyes roved her body, pausing for an extra beat when he caught the glint of metal through the lace covering her breasts.

With unexpected daring, Sirra moved into his space again, slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt. “Do you have any tattoos?” she asked casually, hoping her voice didn’t betray her growing desire as more of his golden skin came into view.

“Among other things,” he answered in a low tone. Her eyes met his as she gently pried open the shirt, exposing his toned torso and a pair of metal bars running through his brown nipples. Smirking, she helped him shrug off the article of clothing, drinking in the inked half-sleeve on his left arm and the full sleeve on his right.

Taking his hand in hers, she led him backward to the bed. “I think you and I will get along just fine, Alistair.”

He smirked cheekily. “Of that I have no doubt, Sirra.”

She crawled on top of the bed and knelt on the edge, face to face with him. Wrapping an arm around her, he rested his hand in the curve of her spine, gently coaxing her forward and forcing her to reach out to him for balance.

“What can I say?” he murmured in response to her playful smile. “I like your hands on me.”

“Hmm, do you now?” Sirra teased.

“A lot,” Alistair whispered in her ear.

“Lucky for you, I like them there, too. Though not as much as I like yours on me.”

In reply, his fingers traced the length of her vertebrae before splaying against the nape of her neck. Relaxing into the touch, Sirra allowed her head to fall, exposing her neck, and Alistair groaned softly.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

Cupping the base of her skull, his chest pressed against hers, easing her gently out of her kneel and onto her back. For such a large man, he was shockingly tender, constantly aware of his strength and dialing it down to suit the mood. There was a part of her lust-addled brain screaming how easy it would be to love him.

Once Sirra was under him, Alistair swiftly moved behind her, leaning his head over hers from the opposite direction. His fingers reverently trailed along her clavicle and shoulders, while his lips hovered near her neck. Her blood boiled with every hot exhale of breath against her skin, but she swallowed her hungry moan, grounding herself by sliding her hand through his thick auburn hair.

“How far is too far, Sirra?” Alistair whispered in her ear.

“I’ll let you know,” she murmured. Soft lips grazed feather-light along her skin and she gasped, arching into the touch, seeking more pressure. He obliged eagerly, mouthing her neck with lips and tongue, careful to not leave a mark or use his teeth. Ancestors, his gentleness was unraveling her.

The hand ghosting her upper body slowly dipped lower, his palm halting near her belly button, before slender fingers slid a couple of inches over to caress her exposed waist. Alistair hummed appreciatively as he faintly outlined the blooming rose tattoo on her left side.

“Roses are my favorite,” he said as casually as one remarking on the weather, but when Sirra looked into his eyes, she saw the storm brewing within them. Excitement thrummed to her marrow with the knowledge she could bring such a man to his knees.

“They’re mine, too,” she replied.

He hummed again, his full lips curving into a delicious smirk. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Tilting her head, she breathed against his neck. “Switch with me. I want to touch you.”

“Shit, yeah. Sounds good to me,” Alistair hurriedly replied, scooting out of the way so Sirra could rise. Standing up on the bed, she paused in front of him as he knelt in front of the wrought iron headboard, staring at him from her slightly higher vantage point.

“Same word, okay? Use it if you need to.”

Alistair shook his head slightly with a dazed expression. “I won’t need it. Not with you.”

Biting her lip for a second, Sirra brushed her thumb across his cheekbone, and murmured, “Neither do I. Not with you, Alistair.” His eyes widened at her impromptu confession, but she stepped aside so he could lie down and he took the hint.

Once he was situated where she had been, she knelt and hovered over him, bringing her face close to his jaw as her hands flitted along his chiseled torso. One of his hands ended up in her hair, running through the strands in time with her ministrations, mesmerizing her with the flex of his arm. He twitched under her delicate touch, so she increased the pressure slightly, pleased by the obvious hitch in his breathing.

On the next pass along his body, Sirra ran her nails lightly up his abs, circling his pecs, across his shoulders to his elbows in a loop. Halfway through the second go around, she noted the goosebumps on Alistair’s skin and the stilted rise of his chest. Firming up her touch again, she gently kneaded his muscles, her heart leaping as he exhaled a soft groan.

“How far is too far, Alistair?” she repeated his question to her against his ear.

“I’ll let you know,” he whispered.

She hid her blush behind her sheet of hair; the phrases shared between them sent heat racing through her. This handsome man she didn’t know thought her inconsequential words worth remembering and repeating? Refocusing her attention, Sirra’s lips descended on his silky skin, intent to unmake him with every slide of her mouth, suppressing her own moan as she laved him with her tongue.

“Maker, Sirra,” Alistair hissed, his free hand twisting in the sheets. Reaching over, she loosened his grip and replaced it with her smaller one, squeezing in encouragement. Leaving his succulent skin behind, Sirra held his gaze as his other hand slowly came into view, dragging his thumb along her glistening bottom lip in fascination.

“Molto bene!” Zevran exclaimed, shattering the moment. Damn it, this was a shoot! She was on a job and was practically fucking a stranger. Ancestors!

Ducking her head, Sirra attempted to scramble out of the way, but Alistair’s strong fingers snared her chin. Shaking his head, his smile unveiled his dimples, understanding flashing in his eyes.

“No need to hide from me, Sirra,” he murmured.

All the tension building within her, deflated with his gentle reassurance. Immensely grateful for whatever magic resided in his grounding presence, she sat up so Alistair could follow suit.

“Oh,” Sirra breathed when she saw his large backpiece. Her fingers reached out unconsciously and traced the arresting image of a raven-haired elven woman in a blue cloak riding a griffon through a lightning storm. Fierce, powerful, beautiful, _free_.

Alistair chuckled, peering at her over his shoulder as she caressed the artwork. “Do you like it?”

Sirra’s eyes snapped to his at the faint undercurrent of uncertainty in the wake of her silence. “ _‘Like it?’_ Alistair, this is one of the most amazing tattoos I’ve ever seen! Is this a tribute to someone, because I’d love to meet her, if she’s real. It’s breathtaking.”

His gaze warmed along with her cheeks as Sirra catalogued what she said. Ages passed, held captive by his golden eyes, before Alistair answered. “It is a tribute, yes. It’s my mother, actually. She’s a former Grey Warden, hence the griffon, and her personality reminds me of lightning. So, hypothetically, you could meet her and tell me if you think it fits her.”

In a moment borne of instinct or insanity, Sirra pressed her lips to the figure etched into his skin. A whisper of a sigh escaped him and his whole body relaxed under the tender kiss.

“Beautiful,” Sirra whispered, her eyes locked on Alistair’s when she spoke. The knowledge of his elven heritage was precious, yet he offered it without hesitation, as a gift. Because he trusted her.

He blushed at the compliment and her easy acceptance. Spinning on the silk sheets to face her, Alistair gently pulled her close until she straddled him. His hands cupped her flushed cheeks before sliding into her mass of hair, carefully raking his blunt nails along her scalp, causing goosebumps to erupt along her body with a gasp. Leaving her waves, he caressed her back, pausing just above her ass. Wordlessly, Sirra laid her hands over his and guided them further, desperate for his touch. Alistair palmed her generous flesh with a strangled groan, swallowing several times in succession.

“Excellent position! It might work better in the chair by the window, however,” Zevran mused, startling them both.

“Fucking Ancestors,” Sirra swore as Zevran’s voice jolted them rudely from their bubble. Alistair made her blind to all else, though she couldn’t find it in herself to be scared by it. If anything, it thrilled her, causing her pulse to race with the intensity of his undivided attention.

Alistair snorted beneath her, gracing her with a bright smile. “Don’t worry. We can pick this back up.”

“Yeah, once my heart leaves my throat,” Sirra groused. Alistair pressed his lips together to restrain the unbridled mirth threatening to erupt, squeezing her curves one last time before releasing her.

Sliding off the bed, Sirra led the way to the leather wingback Zevran used for reading. The books usually littering the floor were missing, though. As Alistair settled on the chair, she caught his hungry gaze when she hiked up the gauzy skirt to climb into his lap. His hands met her halfway, encircling her waist and lifting her with ease, placing her carefully across his well-muscled thighs.

“Where were we?” he quipped with a smirk.

“Learning how well we fit together,” Sirra replied.

Alistair’s smirk widened into a smug grin. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll _fit_ just fine.”

“Mmm, I was hoping you’d say that. Ancestors, do you know how handsome you are?” Sirra sighed in his ear. The slender fingers gliding over her inked thighs tightened infinitesimally.

“Would you call me a liar if I said I never believed it until now?” he asked with a tremor in his voice.

Sirra blinked at him. She was tempted to throw out a sarcastic jibe, but the vulnerability in his eyes stopped her and her chest constricted painfully. Rubbing soothing patterns along his chest, she whispered, “No, I wouldn’t call you that. In fact, I learned something very important about you while we were blindfolded.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

Running her hands through his short hair, she said, “You are honest, almost to a fault. You hide your anxiety behind a killer sense of humor. You are gentle and kind, apologizing for things most men wouldn’t bother to second guess. And whatever cologne you are wearing is intoxicating.”

Licking his lips, Alistair replied, “Picked all that up in under five minutes behind a blindfold? I’m impressed.” He chuckled at her playful smile, his hands traveling to grip her waist. “Alright, you may be right about the humor, but I thought you said there was only one thing. That’s… more than one.”

Brushing her mouth against the shell of his ear, Sirra stated confidently, “Genuine. You are genuine, Alistair. You are unapologetically _you_ and it is damn attractive. The fact that you are physically as gorgeous as you are inside is a bonus.” Pressing a soft kiss to the tapered cartilage, Sirra whispered, “I’m already in trouble.”

He shivered under her, whether from the touch of her lips or her words, she wasn’t certain until she caught his gaze again. Hazel burned like molten gold in the afternoon light, searing her to the core, desire to match hers reflected in his eyes. But underneath the fog of lust, affection blossomed, unfurling like a tightly coiled bud basking in the sun.

“If you’re in trouble,” he rumbled while thumbing slow circles on her hipbones, “then I am royally fucked. Have been the moment you introduced yourself to calm me, though you were just as nervous. And you kept checking my comfort level, which most women don’t do, for the record. But I felt steadier the moment your hands found me, and I know you did too, because you stopped trembling.”

Sirra sucked in a sharp breath. Had she been shaking in the beginning? She hadn’t noticed, which didn't surprise her, nor did it really shock her that Alistair settled her from the beginning. Their connection was instantaneous.

Her skin burned under his touch, every nerve in her body alight, as Alistair stared into her soul. She wanted everything he had to give; right now in this shoot and later when they were alone. Sirra wanted sunny iced coffee dates and rainy days trapped in tangled sheets. Lazy Sunday afternoons and cozy Tuesday dinners at home. She wanted to know what books he preferred and his favorite bands so they could have teasing arguments over who had better taste.

She wanted Alistair.

Leaning in, she tilted her head unconsciously, sighing in contentment when he cupped her neck and reeled her the rest of the way. A tiny whimper escaped her when their lips met, mingling with the approving groan wrenched from the depths of his chest. Sinking her fingers in his thick hair, Sirra molded herself around him as their lips met again and again and again.

Yep, they definitely fit together, like puzzle pieces; extensions of one another, necessary to complete the picture and make it whole.

_I could die happy kissing him._

Alistair chuckled against her mouth, his eyes twinkling as he studied her stunned expression. “Oh damn, did-did I say that out loud?” Sirra asked.

“Yeah, yeah, you did,” Alistair replied with a grin. “But you said exactly what I was thinking, so no harm done. Glad to know we’re on the same page.”

Biting her lip, Sirra studied him through her lashes. “I’m curious - how do you see this going when the shoot is over?” She refrained from kissing him again as his features softened and he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, appraising her piercings with interest.

“Well, I was _hoping_ we could have dinner, maybe exchange numbers. Whatever you want, really. I’m not gonna push for something you’re not interested in.”

“I would like that,” Sirra murmured, a blush staining her cheeks. “I can tell you what I want. Maybe ease your mind a bit?”

Flashing his dimples, Alistair answered, “A woman who tells me what she wants instead of playing guessing games? Where have you been all my life?” Sirra laughed, throaty and loud, a spontaneous bark of joy that caused his smile to grow impossibly wider.

Once calm, she reached for the hands at her waist, threading their fingers together. “I want something _real_. I’ve never been this comfortable with anyone and with you it was immediate. I don’t want a casual fling. I want genuine conversations and inside jokes and security. Call me crazy, but it feels like I can get that with you, Alistair.”

Giving her hands a brief squeeze, he smiled softly. “You’re not crazy, Sirra. I feel the same about you. I don’t do casual. I’m an ‘all or nothing’ guy and I want all of it with you.”

“Mmm, glad to know we’re on the same page,” Sirra said, repeating Alistair’s earlier comment with a smile, hoping to communicate that what he said mattered to her. He must have understood her intention because he shook his head with a disbelieving chuckle as he pulled her in for another tender kiss.

“Amazing,” he murmured against her lips. “You’re amazing, Sirra. I’m glad I agreed to this.”

“To a lingerie shoot?”

“To model,” Alistair replied with a grin. “I’m a graphic designer.”

“That’s really cool, actually. Wait…” Sirra narrowed her eyes and glanced behind her, but Zevran had disappeared. “That little... I should have known.”

“Known what?” Alistair asked in confusion as she scrambled off his lap. She didn’t reply as she strode purposefully to Zevran’s makeup room, snatching her phone from her bag.

_Cara mia, do not kill me when you figure out my setup. I do hope you and Alistair have an enjoyable time. Don’t forget to lock up when you leave, my dear. Oh, and the lingerie is yours to keep. Ciao!_

“I don’t know whether to murder him or thank him,” Sirra stated with a laugh as she passed her phone to Alistair hovering in the doorway.

His mouth fell open as he read the message. “Holy shit. I bet this was Eowyn’s idea. Not that I’m complaining, mind you! I guess, in this instance, we can forego murder and send him a fruit basket.” Their eyes met as he returned her phone, breaking their composure and sending them into fits of giggles.

“Well, since the session is over, want to grab a bite to eat? There is a good place around the corner with the best comfort food,” she asked with a shy smile.

“Sounds great. I’ll, um, let you change and put my shirt back on,” Alistair replied with a blush.

Glancing at her outfit in vague astonishment, Sirra nodded. “Oh yeah, I probably shouldn’t go out in public like this. Honestly, I forgot I was wearing it, which is hilarious considering Zev neglected to tell me I would be in lingerie today.”

Alistair frowned slightly. “That doesn’t sound funny to me.”

“Oh, no! I’m not angry. At first I was annoyed, but I’ve been working with Zev for almost two years and he knows I’ve never modeled anything like this. I think this whole thing was his way of killing two birds with one stone.”

“Which birds?” Alistair asked with a smile.

“Hooking us up, obviously, but also a confidence boost for me.” Sirra shrugged. “Even had things not worked out romantically with us, you’re fun and made me laugh. It was easy to work with you, which allowed me to feel comfortable trying something new.”

Wringing her hands, she glanced aside with a blush. “Who knows? I might even do a swim shoot this summer. There’s a first time for everything.”

Clearing his throat, Alistair stepped into the room and tilted her chin. “I’d, uh, be willing to do it with you, if you thought it might help. Boring graphic designer by day, sexy model by night! Or ya know, I could stand on the sidelines and support you. I’ll bring coffee and cheesecake.”

Sirra laughed in wonder as butterflies exploded in her gut. She could never resist a man with a great sense of humor. How could she refuse one with wit _and_ a heart of gold?

“You’d do that for me?”

Alistair chuckled. “I have a feeling there isn’t much I _wouldn’t_ do when it comes to you, Sirra.” She smiled warmly as a flush stained his cheeks. “I-I enjoyed today. It was out of my comfort zone, but with you it felt natural. So, if you decide you don’t want to do it alone, I’d be more than happy to step in.”

Sinking to his knees, he took her hands and pulled her close. “Just know, you should never be nervous. You are gorgeous, Sirra. I almost passed out when I saw your outfit and had to come up with the tattoo comment off the cuff. I mean, they are beautiful pieces, but they don’t come close to you.”

“Flatterer.”

Cocking his head, Alistair teased, “Didn’t you say I was ‘honest to a fault’ earlier?” Sirra blushed halfway down her chest. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” he assured her.

“I know you wouldn’t. Thank you, Alistair,” she murmured.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered, sweetly caressing her jaw with his thumb.

“You never have to ask,” she replied breathlessly, closing the minute distance between them.

They melted into the embrace, reigniting the initial spark until they burned out of their clothing entirely. And if they stayed longer to make use of Zevran’s large shower together… well, he _had_ offered, hadn’t he? Sirra was never one to waste an opportunity, after all.

* * *

_All locked up! Thanks for today. I should be mad, but I just can’t find it in me when I feel like I’m floating, so count your lucky stars. Expect Alistair to be my only partner in future shoots, or at least hanging out in the background. See you next time, Zev._

Zevran set aside his book with a laugh and slipped into the kitchen, drinking in the sight of his girlfriend wearing his shirt, showcasing her lean legs. With every movement, the fabric rose enough to tease him with a glimpse of her lilac underwear.

Wrapping his arms around her as she hummed at the stove, he said, “Sirra and Alistair either just left my apartment or she only now deigned to tell me they’re gone.”

Eowyn grinned wickedly at him, checking the clock on the dining room wall. “My, my! Four hours later! Scandalous.”

“I wish you could have seen them. The magnetism! It was instant.”

She giggled. “I saw the photos. That’s more of Alistair’s almost-O face than I ever want to see again, thanks very much.”

He snorted. “Fair enough.” After a pause, Zevran chuckled, “I give them a month.”

Rounding on him in horror, Eowyn stared at him with wide mossy eyes. “You just said they were perfect together! Do you think we made a mistake?”

“No, amore mio. I mean, I give them a month before they elope. I might have been party to their engagement shoot today.”

She blinked slowly as the giggles built until she was clutching the kitchen counter in a fit of uncontrolled mirth. “Okay, that may be accurate knowing Alistair!”

“I’m thinking of changing my business cards. Should I add ‘Matchmaker Extraordinaire’ or ‘Signor Soulmate’?” he asked cheekily.

Rolling her eyes with an exasperated huff, she passed him the dinnerware. “Set the table, bello.”

With an exaggerated bow, Zevran laid out the plates and cutlery before uncorking the wine to go with dinner, smiling all the while. Soon, Sirra and Alistair would have this, too. He laughed to himself, mentally granting the new couple a week before they moved in together.

Not that he faulted them for such impetuousness. As he watched Eowyn fill their plates, a beatific smile gracing her lovely features, he tapped the box in his pocket. Sometimes you just _know._

**Author's Note:**

> Cara mia/cara - “my dear/dear”
> 
> Molto bene - “very good”
> 
> Bellissima - “gorgeous”
> 
> Amore mio - "my love"
> 
> Bello - “handsome” masculine version of “bella”


End file.
